


Tea for Three

by 2891



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Dad!Dyatlov, Dyatlov's POV, Minor Character Death, Other, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 15:33:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19478833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2891/pseuds/2891
Summary: What was going through Anatoly Dyatlov's head that day of the test was deeper than anyone knew.





	Tea for Three

**Author's Note:**

> HBO characters used for entertainment purposes only.

He doesn’t supervise them often, but for the purposes of the test tonight, he prepared himself to, forcing himself to a long nap during the day to be refreshed for it later, as he had promised Bryukhanov and Fomin earlier during their meeting.  
  
  
  
He hates naps. He hates sleeping. He hates the dreams.  
  
  
  
A child holding his hand. Blue eyes fixed on his; the light fading. His beautiful blond hair gone. The lack of air in his lungs.  
  
  
  
_“Papa, I don’t want to die.”_  
  
  
  
He gasps for air as he rises from the bed, spooked. Knocks over a barrage of trinkets on his nightstand grasping at his cigarettes and lighter. He finally finds the pack and takes one out to light it with shaky fingers. But he doesn’t manage to take in many puffs before a wave of nausea ushers him to the bathroom.  
  
  
  
He hates sleep. He hates the dreams.  
  
  
  
He hates being alive, instead of him.  
  
  
  
——  
  
  
  
He lights another before going in. He likes smoking there, right outside the control room, overlooking the reactor itself. It’s nice and quiet and often undisturbed. But the thing is there. The massive thing, full of poison. The thing he hates most in the world. His enemy.  
  
  
Once done, he opens the door violently, striding in without looking at his young coworkers. He doesn’t need to. He knows where each of them are at any time. He knows them better than they realize.  
  
  
He knows Stolyarchuk is a little sleep deprived these days because his wife just had a baby. That’s why he’s hanging back, trying to go unnoticed by wandering near the meters most of the time. He decides to be a little less hard on him tonight.  
  
  
He knows Kirschenbaum has an anxiety problem, as well as a fear of authority. _He’s too soft_ , he thinks. He needs to whip him up into shape, if he’s to survive here. He decides to be a little harder on him tonight.  
  
  
He knows Toptunov is new, and despite not knowing him too well still, he can tell the young engineer is brilliant. Whoever saw to promote him to chief engineer at his age also saw that. He glances over at the young blond boy, who is talking nervously with Aleksandr Akimov in hushed voices, though he can hear perfectly what they’re trying to hard to keep quiet.  
  
  
  
He can see it too.  
  
  
  
“We’ve been cleared to run the test.” Dyatlov glances over at the board. “Sixteen hundred. Good. Now, is it too much to ask that you all now what you’re doing?”  
  
  
  
“Well— “ Leonid starts, but Sasha cuts him off.  
  
  
  
“Yes, absolutely.”  
  
  
  
Dyatlov looks at him. _Good. He knows his place._  
  
  
  
“Stolyarchuck.”  
  
  
  
“Yes.” _Good boy._  
  
  
  
“Kirschenbaum.”  
  
  
  
“I, uh— I haven’t reviewed… we only just found out— ”  
  
  
  
He cuts him off by chucking the thick binder at him. _Stupid boy._  
  
  
  
“There. Review it. Or you can just do what I tell you.”  
  
  
  
_Do as I say and you’ll be fine, child._  
  
  
  
Kirschenbaum looks like he’s about to cry. Stolyarchuck rushes over to him, not without shooting Dyatlov a fiery glare first. Dyatlov lets himself smile. He’s kind of proud of him and his little insolence. It makes him stronger. He just wishes Kirschenbaum would take note as well.  
  
  
  
  
He looks over at Leonid, who’s watching everything nervously. “Toptunov. Reduce power to seven hundred,” he instructs. He walks over to his chair and sits down without bothering to look up. He knows them all and know’s they’ll do as he says.  
  
  
  
“Reducing power to seven hundred,” Leonid announces.  
  
  
  
He exhales. It’s time to start. He desperately wants it to be over. Then he’ll be able to leave this godforsaken place for good. Fomin will promote him. He’ll never have to be around this shit again.  
  
  
  
He does glance up later, for some reason. His eyes focused on the thin, blond strands that peeked out from the young engineer’s hat.  
  
  
  
——  
  
  
  
“Papa, can I have your hat?”  
  
  
  
Anatoly looks down at his young son, who’s tugging at his leg. He hadn’t been through the door for more than 5 seconds when the boy had jumped him, so happy to see his father back after such a long time away. His wife also greets him with a soft kiss and a hug. It’s so good to be home.  
  
  
“It’s so good to have you home finally!” she says. He gives her a look, and she chuckles. Yes it’s true they missed each other but he knows her well, and knows she enjoyed the time away from him too.  
  
  
  
“I’m just glad to be on solid ground and in open air. I never want to work in a submarine again.”  
  
  
  
“Are you OK, though? They said there was an accident.”  
  
  
  
“There was. But everything’s fine now. That’s why I didn’t come home earlier. Had to stay at the hospital for tests.”  
  
  
  
“You were sick? Why didn't you say, Tolya?”

  
“I’m fine. Stop fussing over me, woman.”

  
“Papa- ” the boy whines. Anatoly switched his attention to his young son, who ignores his parent’s typical spats and bounces on his little feet, biting his lip in a gesture of contentment and happy expectation.

  
“Sure, here,” he says handing him his uniform’s cap. It was way too big for the boy, who was merely 6. Well, he’d turn 7 in a month, but his head was still too tiny for it.

  
The boy didn’t care. He took the hat and put it on immediately. Thin, blond strands peeked from under it. The boy laughed and giggled as he skipped through the entire living room. Anatoly just looked at him, and smiled.  
  
  
  
——  
  
  
  
He never smiled anymore.  
  
  
  
He knew the boys hated him. No matter. He wasn’t there to be liked, or to be popular. He was there to be obeyed.  
  
  
  
_Because if they don’t obey, they could—_  
  
  
  
He doesn’t mind being taken for a tyrant. _Let them hate me_ , he thinks. _I’ll break these boys into the best men in the world._  
  
  
  
_I’d rather they hate me than die._  
  
  
  
He observes how Akimov gently guides Toptunov through the instructions, not needing to scold or humiliate to get him to follow. It makes him feel a little bitter, but he lets it slide. He knows it’s more than a difference of teaching styles, but rather of the bond between them. Dyatlov stares at Sasha. He must have felt it because the man turns around suddenly to meet his eyes. His face is a little blushed, and he quickly lowers his eyes, unable to hold Dyatlov’s glare. Leonid also glances back, wondering what is going on. Anatoly notices his eyes. Most of the guys here think Leonid Toptunov is a little boy; soft and shy, easy to tease. But Dyatlov can see through his eyes. There’s fire behind them. Determination and brilliance. The young man maybe fresh at his post, but he’s no pushover.  
  
  
  
If he’s following Akimov’s every word it’s not because of fear or deference. It’s because he chooses to.  
  
  
  
Pride swells in his chest. He looks at them working together, observing, until he realizes he’s looking at Leonid.  
  
  
  
Damn it, he needs a break.  
  
  
  
“Kirschenbaum.”  
  
  
  
The dark haired boy glances nervously over to him. “Yes?”  
  
  
  
“Come get me when these old women are done,” he orders, and gets up hastily form his chair. He leaves the room before the young man finishes saying “Yes, Comrade Dyatlov.”  
  
  
  
——  
  
  
  
“Why is he not going to school?”  
  
  
  
“He’s been feeling a little under the weather recently,” his wife replies. She gets up from the table to grab the tea kettle that’s hissing annoyingly on the stove. He grunts in disagreement as she pours him tea. He lights a cigarette and enjoys it while he waits for the beverage to cool.  
  
  
  
“It’s not good for him to miss school. He’ll fall behind,” he complains. His wife just gives him a side glance.  
  
  
  
“Well, he can’t study if he’s throwing up. So it’s best to let him stay home and rest,” she replies curtly, taking a sip of tea.  
  
  
  
“He’s throwing up?” he asks, now visibly concerned.  
  
  
  
“Since 2 days ago. Must be the flu that’s going around.”  
  
  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me, woman?” he asks angrily. The ash on his forgotten cigarette misses the the ashtray and falls on the tablecloth.  
  
  
  
“I didn’t want to worry you, Tolya. You’ve been so busy with the new appointment at the power plant. Besides, I’m taking him to the doctor this afternoon, after he wakes up fro his nap,” she explained, her voice a little shaky.  
  
  
  
He wanted to say something to her, but he was angry. Then his eyes focused on the wall clock and made him realize it was time to go to work.  
  
  
  
“I’ve got to go. Tell me how the doctor’s visit goes. I know you like keeping things from me sometimes,” he demands in a reprimanding voice. She looks at him and nods, not without rolling her eyes when his back is turned to her, as he grabs his jacket from the chair to put it on.

  
  
“It’s because you always get like this. You worry too much! All kids get sick sometimes, Tolya,” She calls out from inside the kitchen as he opens the door to leave.

  
——

  
  
Yeah, all kids get sick sometimes.  
  
  
  
But not like this.  
  
  
  
He can feel the shakes in his hand as the minutes tick past. He has to get them through it, he tells himself. He’s been put under pressure by Bryukhanov and Fomin, and if he doesn’t deliver, he’ll be out. He’ll be gone, to some other plant, some other appointment. And then who’ll look after them? Who’ll care?  
  
  
He hasn’t gone through half of his cigarette when Akimov is standing behind him, waiting. He can already tell its him without having to turn around. Sasha has a particular way of shuffling his feet and breathing when he’s scared. He’d know it was him even if he approached him in a crowd.  
  
  
  
They walk back in the control room, startling everyone inside. He knows something is wrong just from their body language.  
  
  
  
Boris is hugging himself as he usually does when he’s upset. He turns to give Dyatlov a look; his head at an angle which means he’s angry.  
  
  
Igor is running around like the little mouse that he is; never knowing if he’ll get squashed or not. He always looks to Stolyarchuk when he’s too scared to ask Dyatlov directly for help. He edges closer to Stolyarchuk for reassurance. Dyatlov can tell just how scared Kirschenbaum is at any given time depending on the distance between him and Stolyarchuk.  
  
  
  
Leonid is looking at Sasha. He always looks at Akimov when he’s terrified. Sometimes, he looks at Sasha for no reason at all. It makes Dyatlov feel even more worried about him.

  
  
_He knows them so well…_

  
  
Akimov explains what happened. At some point he stops listening because the soft, round man’s voice just triggers something inside of him.  
  
  
  
“You’re choking my reactor. Get it back up!”  
  
  
  
Leonid looks at them arguing, biting his lip.  
  
  
  
He knows Leonid bites his lip when he’s unsure. His eyes widen. Blue, sky blue. But he’s also seen him bite his lip when he’s happy or expecting something.  
  
  
  
Like Vitya.  
  
  
  
——  
  
  
  
They sit around the kitchen table with mugs of steaming tea, the three of them. He tried to read the words on the documents, but it’s like he’s forgotten what words mean. The print goes in and out of focus. Only one word is legible.  
  
  
  
_Leukemia._  
  
  
  
The boy doesn’t seem to understand. He’s just sitting there, playing with a toy car, his tea forgotten. The trails of vapor fly up in the air. There’s nothing to say. He looks over to her. She’s doing a terrible job of holding it together. Tears escape her, and fall into her cup.  
  
  
  
“Mama, why are you crying?”  
  
  
  
She breaks into sobs. The poor boy is visibly shocked and starts to begin to break into crying. He’s never seen his mother like this. Anatoly rises from his chair and picks him up to take him to the living room while he gives his wife a chance to compose herself. Judging from her state, it’ll be a while.  
  
  
  
He sits him down on the sofa. He’s still in his pajamas, looking at him expectantly.  
  
  
  
“Papa, what’s wrong? Why are you and mama so sad?”  
  
  
  
“It’s nothing, Vitya. Mama and Papa are just a little worried about you because the doctors say you’re a little sick,” he decides to say to his son. He doesn’t really know how to speak to children, let alone tell one that they have cancer. Would they even understand what that means?  
  
  
  
Anatoly reaches up to smooth his son’s hair. A thin, blonde lock stays in his hand.  
  
  
  
“We.. we have to take you to the hospital, Vitya. You’ll be staying there for a little while. But don’t worry, Mama and Papa will come visit you every single day.”  
  
  
  
“I have to go live in the hospital?” the boy asks, horrified. His eyes start to well up. Anatoly’s eyes as well.  
  
  
  
“Just for a little while. It’s ok, the doctors will make you all better. You’ll see. It’s nothing,” he tells his son. He tells himself too. It’s nothing. He’s seen worse. The boy nods, but doesn’t seem too convinced. Nobody is convinced.  
  
  
  
  
“It’s just for a little while, and then you’ll come home.”  
  
  
  
  
This is all his fault. The goddamn radiation in his hat.  
  
  
  
  
The goddamn atom.  
  
  
  
——  
  
  
  
_He never came home…_  
  
  
  
  
“What did you do?”  
  
  
  
Toptunov is visibly confused and nervous. Stolyarchuk is glaring at him, angry and scared. Kirschenbaum is fidgeting from one place to another, completely lost. Akimov is trying hard to keep it together and calm Leonid down.  
  
  
  
“I didn’t even touch it!”  
  
  
  
_“Why do the stats look like that?!” he shouts._  
  
  
  
_“What did you morons do?!”_  
  
  
  
_Vytya is throwing up all over himself. His eyes roll to the back of his head. His wife is falling on the floor, unconscious too. Anatoly is fucking furious._  
  
  
  
_“Are you going to tell me you did everything right again, you incompetent arsehole?,” he barks at the doctor._  
  
  
  
The chubby man in white looks at him with shame.  
  
  
  
  
“I apologise for this unsatisfactory result, Comrade Dyatlov.”  
  
  
  
  
Dyatlov stares. _Sasha_. It’s Sasha in front of him. He shakes his head. He’s so tired.  
  
  
  
  
“Raise the power.”  
  
  
  
  
“I would like you to record your command—“  
  
  
  
  
“RAISE THE FUCKING POWER!”  
  
  
  
  
——  
  
  
  
The doctor looks at him in disbelief.  
  
  
  
“More? The boy is too weak. Sir.. we need to.. we may need to.. shut down…”  
  
  
  
“You’re not going to fucking shut down anything!” He edges close so the man can hear him, smell him, taste his fury. “I don’t know if I can make things more clear to you, or better for you, but I can certainly make them worse. Give him another round of chemo or I’ll make sure you never work anywhere in the fucking world again.”  
  
  
  
He can almost smell the piss on the doctor, the fear. The chubby man walks over to the nurses, who begin to prepare another drip.  
  
  
  
“Papa, it’s OK.”  
  
  
  
The boy’s weak voice breaks the tension in the room. Anatoly turns around to meet his son’s eyes, so blue and big. His hair was completely gone. The only last hint of life are in those big, sparkling blue eyes.  
  
  
  
“I’m cold, Papa.”  
  
  
  
He rushes over and wraps his son in his arms. And finally lets go of the tears. He sobs so hard he forgets to breathe.  
  
  
  
——  
  
  
  
The alarm is blaring. It pierces his skull.  
  
  
  
  
_“Papa, Papa, I’m scared!”_  
  
  
  
  
“Turn that fucking thing off!”  
  
  
  
  
They all look at him like he’s a madman.  


  
Sasha makes one last attempt at reason but Dyatlov simply ignores him and addresses Toptunov directly.

  
  
“Vitya, raise the power.”  


  
“Huh?”

  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
  
  
“Toptunov! You fucking deaf? Raise the fucking power!”  
  
  
  
Leonid looks at him with bewildered eyes. Blue. Huge blue eyes….  
  
  
  
He fidgets around the panel uncertain, until Sasha walks over to him, to assist him with the task. “Leonid-“ Sasha’s voice breaks Toptunov’s trance. They both lean over the panel and move the necessary dials.  


  
“Together then,” says Sasha, in a soothing comforting voice to his trainee. Leonid looks visibly calmer the moment he hears his voice. He’s just a boy.  
  
  
  
_Just a boy._  
  
  
  
Sasha shoots Dyatlov a glance. The eyes behind the thick, black frames tell him something. An unfamiliar look. Something he hadn’t seen in ages. Sasha knows. Dyatlov swallows hard.  
  
  
  
Sasha is looking at him with compassion.  
  
  
  
_No… Stop it!_  
  
  
  
He tells Boris to turn on the pumps and Igor to get ready.  
  
  
  
“This is it, comrades…”  
  
  
  
——  
  
  
  
“… in a few moments, it’ll all be over,” says one of the orderlies standing outside the room. Anatoly wants to fucking murder him. But he doesn’t want to get up. Vitya is holding his hand. He doesn’t want to let go.  
  
  
The doctor switches off the life support. It’s just the three of them in the room. It was too much for his wife, who had to be admitted herself for her breakdown.The medic walks over to Anatoly and presses a hand on his shoulder. It makes him look up. The entire time they’d been in the hospital, he hadn’t really taken the time to notice the man. Round face. Bushy, but well kept moustache and thick black glasses. A slightly chubby build. There is a guy at work that kinda looks like him. Something Akimov…  
  
  
  
“I’ll be outside if you need anything.”  
  
  
  
The end was quite peaceful, Anatoly was grateful for that. He had sat in silence and watched him for a while; couldn’t say how long, though he knew it had been well past midnight when it happened. He just sat watching his tiny chest rise and fall, until it didn’t anymore. He looked like he was sleeping. And he never let go of his father’s hand.

\- end.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The title (and fic) is inspired by the song “Te para Tres” (Tea for Three) by the Argentinian band Soda Stereo. The backstory to the song is that the author/singer composed it based on the memory of having tea with his mother and father as they discussed his father’s newlyfound cancer diagnosis. The backstory made me think of Dyatlov’s story about the death of his son to cancer, and how it could have played out.
> 
> 2\. It’s also inspired by the backstory that Craig Mazin chose to leave out of the final version of the script, about Dyatlov’s grudge against nuclear power and what radiation did to his son. The additional information gives his character a deeper dimension and makes his demeanour a little bit more understandable. 
> 
> 3\. It also includes inspiration from one of the stories in the book “Voices from Chernobyl” by Svetlana Alexievich. In it, there is a story about a liquidator who gives his young son his hat after his shift has ended. The boy went on to develop brain cancer. 
> 
> Thank you for reading ❤︎


End file.
